When the Phoenix Burns
by Alaina Locksley
Summary: The tournament is over, Cedric's gone, and Voldemort is back. What happens when Riddle's first move is to target Harry's muggleborn best friend? Follow Harry, Hermione, and the rest as they tread the waters of a brewing war. Only one question remains – What happens when the Phoenix Burns?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a quick note, the plan is to update on Sundays. I have a backlog of chapters so it's set for a while. Thanks for taking a look!**

**Summary: The tournament is over, Cedric's gone, and Voldemort is back. What happens when Riddle's first move is to target Harry's muggleborn best friend? Follow Harry, Hermione, and the rest as they tread the waters of a brewing war. Only one question remains – What happens when the Phoenix Burns?**

**When the Phoenix Burns**

**Chapter 1**

It wasn't the time or hunger that pulled her from the book. The intricacies of the charm had her fully enraptured, leaving the two neglected replaced with knowledge gleaned from the page. Her room sat like it always did over the summer, patiently waiting for its owner's mother to interrupt her obsessive reading and take charge of her care.

No, time and hunger didn't distract Hermione Granger from her quest to understand an impossible world. It was the stinging smell of burnt food that pulled her from the book, up from her bed, and out into the hall. She followed it down the familiar stairs framing the foyer of her childhood home and through to the kitchen, her stomach waiting until its threshold to growl disapproval.

"Mom, are you trying to experiment with the cooking torch aga-." She froze at the sight. Harry had explained what he saw after the tournament to her and Ron. She believed him, of course she believed him, but actually seeing…

"Let them go," she said, the words forced through an uncooperative mouth. It was all she could do to keep a terrified squeak from her voice.

"Miss Granger," the monster in her kitchen hissed back, proving Harry's description entirely inaccurate. She'd imagined more scales. If not for the missing nose, Voldemort looked almost human as he ran a hand through her trembling mother's hair. "How kind of you to join us."

"Hermion-," her mother was cut off by a swift jerk of a tangled hand.

"Quiet muggle," he bit, voice seething in quiet rage. Hermione took a step forward to do… something, stopping when a masked Death Eater pressed a wand farther into her father's throat, silver hand gleaming in the low light. She recognized the plea in his eyes, turn, run, leave us. A sob lodged in her throat. Didn't he understand? It was too late.

A hand clasped her shoulder, holding tight when she tried to flinch away. Dread, held off by a levee of surprise, broke through the floodgates, the clock down the hall striking midnight, its chimes ringing through the house. The witching hour.

Her overactive brain could only muster one thought. What would Harry do?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry woke with a start, Cedric's lifeless eyes still staring through the dark, remnants of a nightmare born from reality. He scrambled to switch on a light. Disoriented, he knocked Hedwig's cage, sending the grumpy owl into an outraged screech. The Dursleys refused to let him release her to hunt at night afraid of the attention she might bring.

He froze at the sound, terrified his pet would wake the house. His ears strained pricking at each creak and ruffled feather. One, two, three, four, five, nothing stirred. He let out a breath and clicked on the light.

"Sorry, girl," he said sticking a finger through the bars to stroke her feathers. She stared puffing her chest. For a moment, he mistook her eyes for Cedric's. Then she leaned into his fingers and all was forgiven. Hope sparked through him for the first time since the tournament. Strange how the smallest of actions could sometimes soothe the greatest of pains.

He glanced at the clock, 2:00 am. Groaning, his head fall back on his pillow.

"Nothing good ever happens after two in the morning, little Harrykins," the twin's voice rang in his head, Fred or George he couldn't remember which. "Best be off to bed." He'd interrupted a prank they were planning for the fourth year dorms and woke up with red and gold skin for his trouble. Their next quidditch game was a day away and he passed it off as extra team spirit. Luckily, he didn't have potions.

The clock ticked to 2:01. He closed his eyes. Maybe the light would help keep the nightmares at bay.

_Click._

His eyes flew open. The doorknob rattled. None of his relatives were quiet enough to reach his door unnoticed. When they moved the house shook, with the exception of Aunt Petunia. Still, she trod through the halls like a mare housed with donkeys.

He reached for his wand resting below his pillow. The door creaked open. Figures poured in.

"Expelli- … Sirius?" He asked cutting his spell off.

"Hello, Harry." His godfather smiled down at him while the others started charming his things into a trunk. He flinched with every clunk of Madeye Moody's peg leg, flashing back to a scene where his face morphed into Barty Crouch Jr. Charlie and who he assumed was Bill Weasley were making silent work of the rest.

"What's, er," he stuttered through the absurdity of the scene, his belongings drifting through the air to be packed by a borderline sane ex-auror and his best friend's older brothers, "what's going on?"

Sirius's smile wavered. "There's been an incident... We need to get you somewhere safe."

Harry hopped out of bed, the last of his things landing in the trunk as its lid snapped shut. "What kind of incident? Will I have to come back?" The spark of hope from earlier flashed brighter.

"No, Harry, not until next summer." The flash choked. Why couldn't he stay where they were taking him? It would obviously be safer.

"What happened? Where are we going?" He asked instead watching Hedwig's cage float over to the trunk. Sirius waved his wand at Harry's pajama bottoms charming them to denim.

"My house," he said producing a folded piece of parchment from his pocket, "here read this."

Number 12 Grimauld Place.

"Did you read it?" Harry nodded. "Can you remember it?" He nodded again. "Good." Sirius grabbed the parchment and lit it on fire the ashes falling to the bedroom floor.

"Take my hand," he said holding it out for Harry.

"Nothing good ever happens after two in the morning," the twin's voice echoed through his mind.

"Sirius," he said staring at the hand, "Why won't you tell me what happened?"

"Harry, I'll explain everything later, but right now, we need to leave."

He crossed his arms giving his godfather the hardest look he could gather. Sirius sighed, his hand dropping a little under an unseen weight.

"Why do you have to look so much like James," he muttered under his breath. "Harry, it's Hermione."

Harry's mouth dropped open. He grabbed Sirius's hand. "Take me to her." They were gone with a pop.

**A/N: Thank you, everyone! Your reviews are like ****marshmallows over a fire, sweet, warm, and ****every one is a ****happy treat****. You're all wonderful. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Hermione groaned as she swam back to consciousness. She felt like the time a bookshelf fell on her in Primary School. Everything ached.

A pressure on her hand squeezed, and she flinched away, another memory from another time stealing her focus. Her mother screamed. Her father yelled. Smoke stung her nose. She burned.

"Whoa, whoa, Hermione it's just me." The voice anchored her.

"Harry?" She breathed the name, a question, a prayer. Her eyes caught his, blurred from unshed tears. Crying came as a surprise, but not altogether unexpected. She took a shaky breath. "Harry," she said more sure. She cleared emotion from her throat, smiling through her terror fueled tears. "When did you arrive?"

He reached for her hand again and she let him. "A few hours ago."

She glanced at the time. It was still early. "Have you slept?" She asked taking in his haggard appearance, concern creeping in.

He let out a wet laugh. "Only you, Hermione," he said with an affectionate smile, eyes misting over, "Don't start worrying over me. Why don't you relax and let me and Ron take care of you for a change? At least for a little while."

She didn't know what to think. On one hand, it was an incredibly kind gesture. On the other, it reminded her that something happened, something she would rather ignore and forget. She decided to lean into the support.

"Ron's here?" She asked.

Harry blinked. The same look he wore during late-night study sessions crossed his face as his brain tried to catch up. "Not yet. Ron and everyone are coming at lunch."

"Harry, you need some sleep," she said raising an eyebrow forgetting for a moment amusement wasn't a feeling she should have, not after last night. More memories, more flashes chased the smile from her face. He noticed.

"They're going to be all right," he said, answering the question she was too afraid to ask. The Gryffindor in her roared at the fear, staying its advance.

"You didn't see them, Harry," she said, dropping her eyes to the blanket covering her legs. They twitched as she watched, tremors leaving them shaking. A list of curses flew through her mind. She made a note to research them, to make a list of symptoms and remedies. It helped, reducing the experience to facts.

Facts were tangible. They were safe. She knew what to do with them. Fear and vulnerability were harder.

"Hermione," he said, his tone familiar, the blame clear as glass resting squarely on his shoulders, "I'm sor-,"

"Are you hungry?" She asked cutting off his apology. He had enough pain and suffering for his self-filled burden. Her parents' situation was her own doing, her own fault. She refused to let him take it on, too.

He eyed her unsure. "Do you want me to call Kreacher? He can bring us some breakfast."

She flashed back to her arrival, Sirius's house-elf shouting slurs equal to the insults hurled from Death Eaters moments before as her parents convulsed on the drawing-room floor. It wasn't a scene she cared to repeat in any way.

"Maybe we just go to the kitchen ourselves," she said instead. "Do you know where it is?"

He hesitated then nodded. "Are you sure you should walk?" He asked as she stood from the bed. Her legs jerked of their own accord sending her tripping into his arms.

"I'll be fine," she said into his shirt, letting him help her straighten, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. He gave her a look. She ignored it.

Taking another step, her legs collapsed. His seeker reflexes caught her before she could hit the floor.

"How about this?" He said, lifting her back onto the bed. "I'll go get us some toast, and when we're done, I'll help you to the next room to visit your parents."

Her blood froze, panic swelling unbidden as he turned to leave. She grasped for his hand latching on before realizing she moved. His brow furrowed.

"You'll..." she swallowed around the fear. "You'll be back right?"

His face softened as he squeezed her hand. "Nothing could keep me away."

Her heart steadied. Shoulders relaxing, she leaned back releasing her vice grip. He brushed a stray curl behind her ear, and she forced herself not to flinch.

"I'll be right back."

**A/****N: Reviews are like a good espresso. One shot can power a writer for hours. Thank you, everyone, for reading! Keep being your wonderful selves!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Miles away, deep under an ancestral manor, the likes of which no muggle had dared lay eyes on, sat a dungeon. Neglected for centuries, revived for the First Wizarding War, its lone prisoner sat in her four by eight cell counting stones to pass the time. Four strides by eight strides she knew by heart, recounting before every exercise session. One could never be too careful when magic was involved, and a shrinking cell was one terror too far.

"Five hundred and fifty five, five hundred and fifty six, five hundred and-" she groaned banging her head against an unusually luxurious pillow for the surroundings. "Bixy?"

A soft pop echoed in the small space. Her bed took one wall, only leaving a sliver of open area where she did her daily calisthenics. Well-worn chains graced the other, long forgotten over the years with a considerable amount of effort. Every time her eyes tried to drift in their direction, she forced herself to complete ten push-ups, twenty five if she caught a glimpse. The boring life she led was a massive improvement over the alternative, and she didn't care for reminders of the past.

"Miss called Bixy?"

"Yes," her head shot up, an excited smile gracing her lips. "Any chance I could beg off a game of exploding snap?"

Bixy gave her a stern look, the first step in their daily act. "Yous knowing Bixy has works to be doing, and yous supposed to be being a prisoner, Miss."

"Come on," she gave him the look she learned from her big brother. It hadn't failed her yet. "Just a little game. Your masters ordered you to take care of me. Wouldn't it be a shame if my mind went before they returned?"

The elf stood, hands on his hips. He tapped his foot, once, twice, three times. "Wellllll," he dragged out the word, "I guess Bixy could be takings a break. Bixy has been working quite hards lately."

"Of course you have. Daily chores and keeping the resident prisoner alive, that's got to warrant a break. Five games at least," she said, sitting up, drumming her pent up energy into the mattress. It took her years, but eventually she talked Bixy into bringing her a real bed instead of a ratty blanket on the ground.

"Oh, no, no, no, Bixy couldn't being taking so long," he said popping a stack of cards into his hand and hopping up to join her on the bed. "Threes games will be being enough."

She let out a small laugh. "We'll see." He dealt the cards as she watched making sure he didn't slip any from the bottom.

The first time she caught him cheating she was impressed. Who knew a house elf had it in him? When she asked, he was mysteriously tightlipped about who taught him. She'd gathered that it was a cousin and assumed he didn't want to get the other elf in trouble if she accidentally slipped in front of his masters. It was a smart move considering her 'sessions' would likely start again when they returned... If they returned.

Lifting her cards, she cast a quick wandless _tempus _charm. Nothing to do in a small cell, she had plenty of time to practice. Small spells came easily after so many years. The time and date appeared in mid-air.

"Yous not supposed to be doing magics, Miss," Bixy said from obligation more than concern, eyes never lifting from his own hand of cards.

"Sure, sure," she said dismissing the scold. "Do you know what today is Bix?"

"My names is Bixy, Miss," he said, smirking as he played his first card. The more time he spent with her, the more he adopted her expressions always saying his cousin would be proud the next time they were able to meet.

It took a year of her badgering him to admit his masters were missing, then another to get him to spend more than the handful of seconds it took to drop off food in her cell. She'd spent almost every day calling his name until he appeared, usually exasperated and covered in dust or grime from cleaning. She'd tell him a joke or a story that her own house elves usually enjoyed, and he'd pop away.

At first, he left before she finished. Over the months, he began staying longer, curiosity overwhelming perceived orders. By the end of the second year, he would add a few follow-up questions or, to her astonishment, a joke of his own.

What at first started as a way to maintain her sanity, slowly morphed into more. Bixy stayed longer, talked more. Eventually, things she'd mentioned she missed started popping into her cell. The bed was first. It took a day for her to realize it wasn't a dream. Then a book appeared a month later, and she nearly cried. Oh who was she kidding, she bawled like a newborn.

"Right, _Bixy_," she repeated, playing her own card, "Do you know what today is?"

"Yeses, Miss," he said, "On account of yous using the magics, Miss." He tossed a card on top of the pile. She narrowed her eyes at him. The little runt was messing with her. She tossed her next card.

He took a long look at his hand, pretending to deliberate on his next move. Dropping the act, he let a smile spread across his face tossing a glance over her shoulder. She held back a squeal, a childish glee filling her as she spun to follow his gaze. A new bedside table sat against the wall, a new book and a cupcake sitting on top.

"Happies birthday, Miss," Bixy said behind her.

She grabbed the cupcake, a beautifully crafted thirty four sculpted on top. Keeping with tradition, she split it in half, handing the bigger side to Bixy. "Thank you Bixy. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Yous be thinking of something, Miss," he said taking a bite smearing frosting on the side of his face. "Yous be finding a way out someday. Bixy knows it."

A pang of nostalgia shot through her. Another birthday flashed through her mind, one surrounded with friends and family, her big brother flicking frosting across the room at her and hitting his friend instead. The food fight that followed went down in family history as a success or disaster depending on who told the story.

"I'll find a way back, Jamie," she whispered the familiar promise, willing her brother to hear.

A tear made her vision swim. As she tried to blink it away, the cell came back into focus, her home for the past fourteen years. Dim, dirty, cold. She played her next card, taking a bite of her cake. It lit a spark of warmth, the taste reminding her she still had at least one friend, one person who cared enough to make her cake on her birthday, an elf equally trapped by sadistic masters.

He was right. She would find a way out… a way out for both of them.

**A/N: [Insert shameless plug for reviews]. Stay wonderful! Until next week, you lovely readers!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Harry worried as he watched Hermione pick at her toast. He counted two bites before she started shredding it and dropping the pieces back on her plate. She stared off in the distance, the food forgotten.

It was odd to watch after half a summer with the Dursleys where he had to fight for every scrap of food he ate. He had an almost irresistible urge to squirrel the bread away for later before forcing himself to remember where he was. Sirius wouldn't let him starve, and Mrs. Weasley certainly wouldn't after she arrived.

"Hermione?"

"Hm," she hummed, not looking up.

"I thought you were hungry," he said gently.

Her eyes popped up, the fog in them clearing. "Right," she said glancing back at her plate. He watched as she battled with herself, almost hearing the byplay as she tried to coax herself into another bite.

"If you want, we can go visit your parents instead. The bread will be here when you get back." He watched her jaw flutter with nerves. It killed him to see her so on edge. She was always the strong one, levelheaded and calm in a crisis. He couldn't count the number of times she'd talked him down from a ledge. He wanted to do the same for her.

The silent question, 'What would Hermione do?' repeated in his head on a loop. He came up blank.

"Yes," she said, her voice strained, Gryffindor bravery beating back her demons, "I'd like to see them."

Getting to her parents' room was a challenge despite it sitting one door over. Hermione's skin paled by the second step, most of her weight resting across his shoulders. By the third, the hand he held turned clammy. Slowly, with more than one stumble, they shuffled in, Harry guiding her to a chair set beside her mother's bed.

Sirius, after ensuring his new guests were stabilized by a frantic Madam Pomfrey the night before, rushed to finish the cleaning jobs on two of the guest rooms. Without enough time to search through them properly, he warned Harry to avoid touching anything unless absolutely necessary. The results were spartan décor, with a bed each. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were still sorely injured, most magical remedies only half working if at all, lacking the necessary magic in their systems to draw from, and needed their own space to recover.

Hermione sat in the chair squeezing her eyes closed, pain etched across her face. Harry's hand tightened into a fist. He wanted to make it better. What would Hermione do?

"I can get you something for the pain," he offered. Sirius mentioned having a store of potions somewhere in the house.

She swallowed her eyes cracking open. "Thanks Harry," her voice cracked as she struggled for control, "but it won't help."

"What do you mean, of course it wou-." Suddenly, a memory shot up unbidden, a spider writhing on a desk, while an imposter held it under his wand. He could still see Neville's face pinching in anguish. There was only one spell that a pain potion couldn't soothe. "Oh."

A hand grabbed his, the warmth bringing him back. "It's ok, Harry. I'm ok."

He took in her ashy skin and wavering smile, beating back an irrational urge to yell at her. No, she wasn't. His free hand lifted to rub his scar, a soft throb going nearly unnoticed.

"No, Hermione, you're not," he said forcing the anger away, replacing it with concern. "They attacked you, did Merlin knows what," she flinched, "all because you're my friend."

"No," she said, her voice firm and sure, the same one she used when he and Ron were refusing to believe one of her homework answers was right. It always was. "They… attacked us… because they couldn't stand their precious little heirs scoring lower marks than a mudblood."

"Don't call yourself that," Harry bit out, some of his suppressed anger leaking into his voice.

She sighed. "Harry, I was already a target, your friend or not. A visit was inevitable." Her teeth clenched as her gaze drifted over her parents. "I should have known."

He opened his mouth to argue, but a flurry of activity interrupted bursting through the door.

"Miss Granger, there you are," Madam Pomfrey admonished bustling over to check her vitals as Sirius trailed in. With a quick wave of her wand a series of quick flashes had the nurse pursing her lips. "What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting."

"I wanted to be with my parents," Hermione said sinking farther into the chair. Harry recognized the tone, she was afraid she was in trouble. Again, he opened his mouth to defend his friend. If his parents were there, they couldn't pry him away with a crowbar.

Sirius beat him to it. "Surely, Madam, Miss Granger's ordeal has warranted her some time with her family."

"Mister Black," she said, exasperation leaking into her movements as she poked and prodded her charge, "she needs to be resting not traipsing around this Merlin forsaken house. What if she came across a doxy nest or one of your family's charming little tokens? A muggleborn lost in a Black property, can you imagine?" Hermione stiffened.

"But she's not traipsing, is she?" Sirius's voice sliced low in warning. "You're correct, this is a Black property and as such you would do well to remember that you are invited here as my guest." Madam Pomfrey fidgeted, and he sighed. "Let the girl sit next to her parents, Poppy, for Godric's sake."

The nurse straightened, finishing her cursory exam on Hermione. "Fine," she said, stress lining her face as she gave her patient a stern look, "but you stay in this chair. If you need to go anywhere, you call either me or Mister Black. Understood?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione mumbled, still trying her best to disappear into her seat.

"Good girl," the nurse flashed her a sympathetic look before bustling over to check on Mrs. Granger.

They watched her work for a time, a heavy silence falling over the dim room. The diagnostic spells flashing light and color in stark contrast to their surrounding.

"Will they be all right?" Hermione's small voice broke their trance. Harry watched Madam Pomfrey's eyes flick over to his best friend before falling back to her father.

"It will take time..." she hesitated, "but yes dear, they will recover."

Hermione gave a sharp nod. "Will they… How long will they be asleep?"

Casting one last charm on Mr. Granger, Madam Pomfrey looked up her features softening. "They should wake later today. I've done all I can for now," she said turning to Sirius. "Muggles are a little out of my area of expertise, but I'll arrange for a therapy plan. The first week at least should be kept to rest and relaxation. I don't like the stress levels I'm seeing."

Sirius nodded. "I'll keep an eye on everyone."

Madam Pomfrey stalked across the room falling back into a haughty mask. "See that you do, Mister Black," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked out the door.

"Well," Harry said, trying for some levity, "I see she hasn't changed."

The tension broke. Sirius turned to him with a smile resting a comforting hand over his shoulder as Hermione's lips twitched upward. "I think you've been spending too much time in the infirmary, Prongslet."

Hermione let out a small laugh, a light breath twinged with humor. "That's an understatement," she said, her voice gaining strength with the scolding authority figure out of the room.

"Say, did I ever tell you about the time Prongs, Moony, and I turned her hair red with gold highlights?" Sirius asked. With their encouragement, he launched into a tale detailing one of the Mauraders' more sophisticated pranks. Harry watched as Hermione relaxed the longer the story went, becoming more animated and responsive to parts she found interesting.

Sirius seemed to notice as well jumping into another prank immediately after. Harry stood with his Godfather's hand resting on his shoulder watching life fight its way back into his best friend. She would be all right. He would make sure of it.

**A/N: You're all brilliant! Every follow, favorite, and review makes my day. Thanks everyone! Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay wonderful!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Lunch brought with it a contingent of Weasleys and a smattering of food. Harry, surrounded by an old house that seemed to hate his very presence if the portrait of Sirius's mother was anything to go by, was in heaven. Friends, no Dursleys, and enough food to feed him for a week had him floating high. Guilt immediately overtook him. How dare he celebrate when the reason for his early retrieval sat upstairs with her unconscious parents fighting random tremors that stole her legs from under her?

"Hey, mate," Ron greeted him with a handshake and brotherly hug. His lips fell into a sad smile. "How is she?"

Harry didn't know how to respond. Terrible, deathly, tortured, how did he think she was? He stopped himself from lashing out a hand raising to rub his scar. The answer must have shown on his face.

"That bad then?" Ron asked the concern clouding his face deepening.

"Worse," Harry mumbled with a grimace before Mrs. Weasley pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. He sank into it savoring the feeling.

"How are you, Harry dear?" She asked pulling back to get a look at him, "Are you eating enough? Oh nevermind that, let me get you some food. Growing boys can never have too much. Ginny, do you have the sandwiches?" She asked turning.

Ginny turned bright red. "Er, Fred and George asked if they could-." Suddenly, a loud pop sounded behind Mrs. Weasley making them all jump. The twins materialized in thin air carrying two bags brimming with food.

"Must you keep doing that? Just because you can use magic now, doesn't mean you have to use it for everything," Mrs. Weasley scolded, turning to grab the bags. Her face softened. "Thank you dears."

Another redhead groaned as she corralled them into the kitchen. "Ginny, you gave the food to them?" The one Harry recognized as Charlie asked. "I think I'll skip lunch."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Bill said throwing an arm over his brother's shoulder. "Mom's been fending off their attempts at her food for years. I doubt they'll succeed today."

"You're especially brave at the moment." Charlie chuckled. "It wouldn't have something to do with a certain charming veela at work would it?"

Bill tightened his arm with a playful hush, casting a worried eye at the back of his mother's head. "If you start her going off on Fleur again, you can find somewhere else to crash while you're home."

"Alright, alright," Charlie laughed as Harry did a double-take at the name. He glanced at Ron for confirmation, receiving a raised eyebrow and soft nod. "Truce?"

"Truce," Bill agreed as Mrs. Weasley started laying out packed sandwiches on the counter and started preparing ingredients for what Harry assumed would make dinner.

"There you are," she announced as she pulled a potato out to peel. "Make sure someone takes one up to Hermione, the poor dear. She'll be hungry, I expect."

"Already on it, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said raising the extra sandwich he'd grabbed before nodding Ron toward the door.

"Thank you, Harry. Be sure to tell her I'll be up later, and the rest of you I expect your best behavior. We don't want to overwhelm her."

Harry escaped with Ron, Mrs. Weasley's lecture trailing off as they closed the kitchen door behind them.

"I'm happy you're here," Harry whispered trying not to wake the portrait of Sirius's mother. He paused as they passed in front of the curtain covering the painting not wanting to chance any sound reaching it. Once on the stairs, he continued, "I've been at a bit of a loss."

"I'm not sure how much help I'll be," Ron said matching his volume. "I'm pants at emotional girls, at least according to Ginny."

Harry glanced over at him. He looked terrified, ready to turn and run despite his feet carrying him in the right direction. Grabbing his arm, they stopped in the hall a few doors down from their destination.

"She's still Hermione," Harry said, squeezing Ron's arm to emphasize the point. "This isn't the Triwizard Tournament. You can't run away from this and come back like nothing's happened." It was harsh, but he needed Ron's help. "She needs us both, and we're going to be there for her… right?"

Ron stared at him, guilt and shame warring behind his eyes before determination took their place. "Right," he said, voice strong and sure.

Harry led him into Mr. and Mrs. Grangers' room, Hermione sitting vigil over her parents. She looked up at their entrance, her movements lagging with exhaustion, a book he'd gathered for her earlier opened on her lap.

"Ron," she said attempting a smile. She closed the book laying it on the bedside table as she tried to stand. A tremor rocked through her legs, making her lose balance and fall back into the chair. Ron was next to her in seconds, kneeling at her side.

"Hermione, are you ok?" he asked, looking her over trying to find where she was hurt. "What did they do?"

Harry walked over to join them wincing at Ron's tactless question. He knew what it felt like to avoid talking about something. Madam Pomfrey constantly asked him why he seemed so malnourished, and coming up with new ways to sidestep the question grew harder every year. He saw the same dilemma run across Hermione's face.

"It's all right," he said letting her off the hook. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Her shoulders relaxed as she shot him a grateful look.

"But-," Ron started before Harry poked him in the back. "Ouch! Harry, what was that for?" He groused rubbing the sore spot.

"Mrs. Weasley said she would be up later to say hello," he said handing her the extra sandwich. "We left her in the middle of a lecture telling everyone to give you space."

Hermione let out a soft laugh. "That was kind of her."

"That's Mom." Ron smiled, willing to move on if it kept Hermione in a good mood. "Mothering's second nature, expect minor smothering and a lot of concern… Or maybe it's the other way around."

Something rustled in the bed nearest them, drawing their attention.

"Mom?" Hermione asked taking Mrs. Granger's hand. She thrashed, her daughter pulling back as if burned. "Mom, it's me. It's ok. We're safe. Just open your eyes and you'll see."

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger moaned. Harry wasn't sure if she was answering her daughter or a nightmare. Slowly, her eyes cracked, popping open as she became more aware. "Hermione?" She whipped her head toward them in a frantic search.

"I'm right here, Mom," Hermione said, her voice small. She hesitated before stumbling onto the bed. "I'm so sorry," she said leaning into her mom's open arms, careful not to nudge any injuries.

"Shh, baby, there's nothing to be sorry for." Mrs. Granger hugged Hermione close and Harry felt a pang of longing. Lowering his eyes from the scene, he grabbed Ron's arm.

"We should go tell your mom and Sirius that she's awake," he said low enough not to be heard over Mrs. Granger's reassurances. Ron nodded backing out of the room with him. "We'll give you two some privacy," he said, doubting they heard him as he pulled the door closed.

**A/N: Thanks, everyone!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Hermione wasn't sure how long she sat in her mom's arms, the horrors from the night before sending tremors through her that had nothing to do with curse damage. She let her mother's soft voice wash over her as the tears she fought so hard to control flowed down her cheeks. Distantly, she heard herself apologize over and over.

Why didn't she expect something like this? The easiest way to Harry was through his friends, and she was a muggleborn who bested more than one Death Eater's child. She always had a plan. She should have had one last night.

"Hermione," her dad's voice broke through her haze of guilt. "It's not your job to protect us." He coughed trying not to move. He forced the rest out, keeping his breaths shallow. "That's our responsibility."

"Dad?" "John?" Hermione and her mom turned to check on him, concern warring relief that he was awake.

"My beautiful girls," he said trying to smile for their benefit. It came more as a grimace.

"John," her mom said shifting so she could reach across to grab is hand. Hermione sat up, giving her space to scoot out of her bed and sit on the edge of his. She crumpled into his side, only Hermione catching his wince. "What happened?" She asked.

Hermione and her dad shared a look. Luckily, her mom missed out on most of the curses, a stunning spell knocking her unconscious early amongst vulgar insinuations and threats. Shortly after Hermione's arrival, Vol-… You-know-… Tom passed her mom off to a brute of a man who promptly sniffed her neck begging his master for a bite.

Bile rose in Hermione's throat at the memory. Voldemort's voice slithering up her spine as clear as if he were in the same room.

"No," he answered. "You abandoned me to my fate, feasting while my loyal servants combed the continent for me. You lack self-control, Fenrir. Do not forget, you bite when I say bite, you kill when I say kill, and only when I say."

The man's face fell. "Yes, master." Her mom bit her lip as his hand tightened in her hair.

Voldemort coo'ed, a mocking sound that set Hermione's teeth on edge. "Don't pout, my pet. Perhaps if you behave, I'll give you the woman once we're done. I'm sure you can find other uses for her."

"They stunned you," her father's voice brought her back to the present.

"I'd gathered," her mom replied dryly.

He rested his chin on the top of her head, meeting Hermione's eye. "Before anything… permanent could happen, we were able to portkey out."

Her mom's eyes closed in relief. "Thank you," she said with a breath. He placed a soft kiss on the top of her head.

Looking up, he patted the space on his other side. "There's room for you too, sweetie."

Hermione eyed the distance she would need to walk to get around the bed. "I- er - I'm not sure I can make it that far."

His brow furrowed in worry. "What do you mea-?"

She was saved from answering by the arrival of Mrs. Weasley and Sirius.

"John, Jane," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, rushing to their bedside, "I'm so relieved to see you awake."

She reached a hand out, Hermione's mom meeting her halfway, standing to wrap the other woman in a hug. "Molly, I can't thank you enough," she said into her shoulder.

Her dad cleared his throat, his eyes shining as her mom pulled back. "Truly, if you and Arthur hadn't..." he stumbled over the words. "My girls and I are safe thanks to your portkey." He struggled to sit up, his body fighting back.

"Easy John," Molly jumped to keep him from moving. "You've had a nasty go of it. You really shouldn't be moving. Really now, it was regular Order procedure. We try to provide escape routes for likely targets, it's nothing to fuss about. Besides," she said helping him lean back down, "I hope you know Arthur and I consider you friends. It would be a shame to lose you." She stared down at him, eyes misting over.

Hermione was surprised. She didn't realize they were so close. Sure, her parents had mentioned a few dinner invites while she was tucked away at school, and there was always the Diagon Alley trip her second year, but the familiarity was still unnerving. She latched onto the one thing in the exchange that she didn't understand.

"Order?" She asked attracting the attention of the adults in the room.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked shooting her an encouraging smile.

"You said it was Order procedure to give us a portkey." She blinked back a flash of her father dragging himself across their kitchen floor to get to her, a pressure on her leg, and a pull behind her navel. Phantom pain sprang through her nerves. Her leg twitched. "What Order?"

Mrs. Weasley's face fell. "Oh, never you mind, dear. You shouldn't have to worry about it for a few more years, and hopefully, by then, all of this ugliness will be done with."

"Molly," Sirius said exasperated, "she should at least know what the Order is. We can at least agree on that." Mrs. Weasley gave him a hard look.

Hermione's dad cleared his throat. "I wouldn't mind knowing more about it," he said. "I don't want Hermione involved." His eyes darted to Mrs. Weasley's in agreement, "But I think it would be good for us all to know more about our side of the fight."

Mrs. Weasley seemed to deflate. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt," she mumbled to herself, then to Hermione, "I was referring to an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix..."

The explanation that followed was by no means short. It outlined a group disillusioned by their government, taking the fight in their own hands during the first war, continuing their self-appointed duty in the next. Many of its members fell during their first stand and their absence was strongly felt during their second. Their activities worked outside of the law, giving them more freedom with some administrations and more danger with others. Dumbledore led them fearlessly, controlling a network of informants, guiding strikes and setting safe-houses. In fact, the very house they were in acted as the current Order Headquarters.

**A/N: Thank you everyone for all of your fantastic reviews! I hope everyone is safe and healthy. Have a wonderful week!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The next month passed quickly for Harry. His days were spent either helping Hermione with her rehab exercises or Mrs. Weasley with cleaning. Grimauld Place was ancient, unused for years and packed to the brim with centuries worth of items collected by dark witches and wizards. It was hard enough to dispose of the cursed objects, but with Kreacher hoarding everything he could get his bigoted hands on, their work seemed to double. No one knew when they would open a drawer and find a stack of volatile curses staring back.

Hermione was slowly finding her feet again. He took her on daily walks around the house. It took weeks before she could tackle stairs. She just started joining them for cleaning sessions a few days earlier after Dumbledore returned her wand during one of his visits. Harry tried to catch him before he left wanting to ask about some of the disturbing articles he found in the Daily Profit, it seemed the whole Wizarding World thought he was a crackpot, but the headmaster disappeared before he could find him.

"You're not still worrying over those articles are you?" Hermione asked shuffling into the room with measured steps. She took it slow, not trusting her legs despite the lack of tremors for a week and Madam Pomfrey's assurances that they were back to normal.

"How could I not?" He groaned. "Burying their heads is exactly what Voldemort wants them to do." Hermione flinched. He sent her an apologetic smile that she shrugged off. "Why wouldn't Fudge want to prepare on the off chance that I'm right?"

"He's not thinking logically," Hermione tried to explain. It wasn't the first time they'd had the conversation, and her voice took on a mechanical quality. "He's thinking like a politician. Merlin forbid, he be the Minister that allowed Vol-… Tom to return, and his choice to surround himself with the likes of Mr. Malfoy and his ilk just reinforces the point."

"It's ridiculous!"

"It's frustrating," she allowed.

"It's bloody well lying is what it is."

"Language Harry," she scolded. Ron's voice joining hers with a teasing lilt. She turned shooting him a smile.

"Happy you finally see it my way," she said as he joined them in the room.

"Of course, I do. Harry should, under no circumstances, be allowed to curse." He laughed as Harry threw him a playful scowl. "It's bloody well unnatural."

"Ronald," Hermione scolded as she rolled her eyes. Harry let out a laugh.

Ron's smile faltered. "Dad's been looking for you, Harry. I think it has something to do with your cousin."

It did. Mr. Weasley informed him that his cousin was in a coma after a run-in with a rogue dementor. The current Order theory said Voldemort, hoping Harry was still home, sent it after his cousin assuming he would be caught in the crosshairs. The ministry theory, keeping in line with the Daily Prophet, blamed it all on him. Somehow, he wasn't exactly clear on their point, he managed to use underage magic over thirty miles from where he was to scare his cousin into a coma. They promptly declared him expelled, an action Dumbledore fought and won. Instead, he would stand in a hearing meant to determine his guilt or innocence.

The hearing felt more like a trial. He sat in the center of a chamber in a chair meant for prisoners, its magical chains laying dormant, while a full Wizengamot heard his defense. A small toad-like woman led the prosecution shouting accusations without proof and many times logic. Dumbledore's appearance was a relief, then a disappointment when after his acquittal, the headmaster rushed away without a word.

Back at Grimauld Place, Hermione helped him pick apart the trial while they helped her parents through a few Madam Pomfrey appointed exercises.

"It sounds like they were trying to keep you quiet," Mrs. Granger cut in as she helped her husband up the stairs. Of the three, she recovered the quickest only running through the exercises to keep an eye on the other two. Hermione received a clean bill of health a week earlier, her father the only family member not fully recovered yet. His injuries were healed, but he still tired easily after their daily therapy sessions.

At Harry's questioning look, she continued, Mr. Granger's arm firmly in her grasp, his labored breathing echoing off the walls, "You'll have access to a lot of impressionable students at Hogwarts, many of which consider you a friend. They want people to listen to their story not yours, so they tried to expel you. Failing that, don't be surprised to find one of their representatives at the school in one capacity or another. It's how us muggles would do it." She shot him a smirk.

"I hope not," Harry groaned. "With my luck, it would be the Great and Horrible Toad."

Sirius met them halfway up the stairs catching the tail end. His face lit up. "Remind me to teach you an old but reliable prank later," he said shooting a sideways glance Hermione's way, "away from rule-following ears."

"You know he'll just tell me later," Hermione said rolling her eyes. Sirius shot a betrayed look at Harry.

"I'm wounded, truly," he said placing a hand over his heart before sliding into a grin. "Why don't you two run down to the kitchen. I think Molly has some ice cream she needs eaten. Kreacher's been messing with the cooling charms again and everything is thawing."

"And you want to talk to my parents about Order business without us around," Hermione added with a knowing smirk.

"That too." Sirius laughed. "You're too smart for your own good sometimes, you know?"

"So I've been told." She smiled grabbing Harry's arm pulling him down the stairs. "Come on, Harry."

"We're not really going to the kitchens, are we?" he asked after they were a safe distance away.

"Don't be ridiculous. We're going to get some extendable ears from Fred and George," she said as they exchanged a smirk.

"Rule-following ears," Harry scoffed as he followed Hermione down the stairs.

A/N: Thanks, Everyone! Stay safe!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The 1st of September came quickly, the scarlet steam engine blowing its horn as Hermione watched the Weasleys and Harry wave out the windows. Padfoot ran around the platform causing general chaos as the train started to move, his Grim visage scaring too many people to count. It was deemed too dangerous for her parents to come, so she said her goodbyes back at headquarters.

"We best get going," Ron said awkwardly, turning toward her, his prefects badge gleaming from his cloak mirroring hers. They'd changed early to prepare for their first meeting. She felt rather than saw Harry clamp down on his jealousy as he flashed her a smile. Ron receiving the badge was as much a surprise to her as it was to him.

"Meet you in a compartment when you're done?" He asked them trying not to let the disappointment bleed into his voice. She and Ron nodded not knowing what else to say. He took a moment to shrink their trunks and drop them in his pocket before heading down the corridor.

The meeting was over quickly. After an introduction to their roles and responsibilities, a peek at the timetable for curfew checks, and a heartfelt good luck, she and Ron set off to make the first Hogwarts Express round. Ron figured if they took the first slot they could relax the rest of the ride. She couldn't fault his logic.

By the end, they had a collection of Zonko's pranks left for unsuspecting loo users, and more than one grateful first year for Hermione's ability to quote Hogwarts, A History on command. She never understood why it wasn't suggested on the acceptance letters. She huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face as she opened the compartment door for Ron. He staggered in, the prank materials piled high in his arms.

Collapsing onto the bench opposite Harry, he started showing off the stash. "Check out the loot we found," he said, ignoring the strange girl sitting beside him. She didn't seem to mind, flipping to the next page in her magazine. Hermione did a double-take. The magazine was upside down.

"By loot, of course, you mean banned items that we'll be turning into McGonagall as soon as we arrive."

"Of course," Ron smiled exchanging a look with Harry.

She rolled her eyes falling into the seat across from the girl. "Hello," she introduced herself, "I'm Hermione Granger."

"Oh," the girl said, large eyes blinking behind a strange set of multicolored glasses. "Hello, I'm Luna Lovegood." She squinted focusing on the air behind Hermione's head. "You've got quite a few wrackspurts following you, you know." Hermione shrank into her seat, turning to look at the space Luna indicated. Confused, she turned back. "You should keep your friends close. They'll help you produce more positive thoughts to ward them off." With that, Luna lost interest in the conversation and went back to reading her upside-down magazine.

Hermione shared a look with Ron. He shrugged, diving back into the pile of banned items. The rest of the ride passed quickly. Ron spent the time catching Harry up on Quidditch League standings while Hermione pulled out one of her textbooks for a bit of light reading. She was mostly able to lose herself in Fifth Year Charms for the duration.

Occasionally, she caught the Luna girl staring behind her head. It distracted her more than once during a complicated section and she had to start over. Needless to say, when Malfoy and his goons made their annual appearance her patience was thin.

Crabbe threw a few choice words at Ron. Goyle threw a few more at Harry. Malfoy stood silent, shock lighting his eyes seconds before his cocky, aristocratic mask slipped back into place.

"I must say, wasn't expecting to see you around, Granger." He smirked.

She glared. "And why is that?" Harry and Ron flinched at her tone, knowing her well enough to be happy it wasn't directed at them.

"One hears things in _proper_ circles." He sneered, glancing at Ron. "An attack on Potter's pet mud-," he tripped over the word, unusual for him, "muggleborn? You're the talk of the town." Hermione's mind fuzzed. People were talking about her, about what happened. Malfoy knew what happened. Malfoy knew. She blanched.

For a moment she was back in her kitchen, a hand clenching her shoulder as her father's screams scorched her ears. Her hand reached for her wand, fingering the smooth wood. She wasn't conscious of pulling it out or moving until she found herself with the point pressed under Malfoy's chin.

She tried to hide the surprise from her face, Harry and Ron a comforting presence at her sides. Malfoy stared back with a maddening smirk, eyes guarded, the scorn she expected to see absent. She studied him, trying to control her impulse to jinx first and ask questions never.

"I did warn you," an aloof voice sounded behind her. She heard rather than saw Luna stand. "Wrackspurts can be tricky," she said, her voice light as she threaded her way to Hermione's side. Malfoy tracked her movements through the compartment, cocking an eyebrow.

"New friend of yours Potter?" he scoffed, seemingly unconcerned with the wand held at his throat.

"No," Luna said a sad lilt around the edges. "At least, not yet. Maybe..." she let the thought trail off, her eyes staring off into the distance. She held everyone's attention, giving her head a soft shake before refocusing on a spot over Malfoy's shoulder. "Don't worry Hermione, I believe I hear the snacks trolley. Some sweets should help with positive thoughts. It should be enough to stave off the infestation."

Malfoy blinked, the only sign of his discomfort. "Snacks trolley?" he repeated. He blinked again. "Really, Potter, another misfit for your sad little group? I think this one may be the worst yet." He laughed, Crabbe and Goyle joining him. "This year's going to be fun." Ignoring Hermione's wand, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the compartment, his cronies cracking their knuckles before following.

Hermione spared a sideways glance at Luna. "The snacks trolley already came by," she said letting a small smile touch her lips.

"Oh?" the young girl asked making her way back to her seat. "My mistake." Hermione swore she caught a smirk before the magazine lifted to hide Luna's face. Maybe having her stare at nothing over her shoulder wasn't as annoying as she first thought.

**A/N: Hey all, sorry for the delay. I wish I had some epic story for why it's late, a treasure hunt, or some kind of prank worthy of the twins. Unfortunately, I'm stuck with an age-old, boring excuse. I missed my alarm. Hope everyone is well. Stay wonderful!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The feast was delicious, as usual. Harry packed some extra rolls into his pockets, just in case. It was always hard to break the habit the first few weeks in a new place.

He and Ron flanked Hermione on the way back, happy when they finally split off from the main halls. The Slytherins spent the time tossing sly smiles her way, sauntering off to the dungeons laughing at her expense. It took two floors and a secret passage for Harry's fist to loosen, Hermione prattling on about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, oblivious. Thank Merlin for small favors.

"Progress for the sake of progress should be discouraged? Pruning what ought to be prohibited? Has the Ministry lost its collective mind?" She complained after giving the Fat Lady the password.

"You've met Professor Umbridge, I see," the portrait said scrunching her face in sympathy. "Don't you all worry. She's only a Professor. I'm sure Dumbledore has everything well in hand." She leaned down conspiratorially. "I have her lasting three months in the pool. Let the twins know I'll be mysteriously blind if they decide they want to go on a stroll after hours." She leaned back with a giggle before swinging open.

They exchanged a look.

"The portraits don't like her, how did she manage that already?" Ron asked. "Term hasn't even started yet." They passed the twins huddled in the corner trying to coerce Colin Creevey into eating a pastie. He rolled his eyes, then, catching sight of Harry, started waving energetically at him. Harry gave a little wave back trying not to be rude.

Angelina Johnson finished giving the first-years the nickel tour collapsing next to Lee Jordan on the couch by the fire complaining about juggling the extra responsibilities piled on upper-year prefects and Quidditch schedules.

"Hey Hermione," she called them over, "can you and Ron trade us rounds on Friday? Apparently, tryouts were pushed out an hour." Harry felt a buzz press against his temple. He should have been prefect. How Ron beat him out, he'd never know. He killed a basilisk for the blasted school. Name one prefect that had come anywhere close to something like that.

What could Ron do? Play chess. Abandon friends before a deadly tournament. His hand reached up to rub his scar.

"Actually, I was hoping to try out this year," Ron cut in. Harry tried to stop the thought. It wasn't very sporting, especially for a friend, but a vindictive little voice whispered in his ear that luck would need to work overtime for Ron to make the team. Quidditch was Harry's. He clenched his teeth, forcing himself to repeat, Ron was his friend and it would be fun to have him on the team, five times in his head.

"Lee, what do you say? Feel like slumming it with a fifth year for rounds?" Hermione asked.

"Why Miss Granger, I'd be delighted." He stood giving her an exaggerated bow. Harry laughed. There was a reason he and the twins got along so well.

/-/-/

The rest of the week passed quickly. Other than Ron's secret, we-never-tell-Hermione, stash of confiscated contraband growing, it was fairly uneventful. In Transfiguration, McGonagall was stern, in Potions, Snape was a git, and in Divination, Trelawny was morbid. His classmates eyed Harry like he was one bludger hit away from insanity, and even that wasn't too far outside the norm (ie. see second year parselmouth incident).

"Mindless sheep," Hermione grumbled as they walked to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Eyes followed them through the halls, more than one group moving to shield the latest Daily Prophet article mocking Harry's Voldemort claims from view. "Not one of them can think for themselves, honestly. If the Prophet told them clouds rained gold, they'd try to find the nearest monsoon."

They entered the classroom, and grabbed a table near the back. Harry grimaced thumbing through the first few pages of his textbook. He didn't have high hopes for the class after seeing the Ministry's Toad Woman again. It was bad enough she was at his trial. Did they have to send her to the school, too?

"Hem, hem," Umbridge's falsely high voice sounded at the front of the room. He cringed. "Welcome to Fifth Year Defense Against the Dark Arts." She scanned the class, pausing a second or two longer on Malfoy and Parkinson, mouth curling in disdain as she passed over him. "In this class, you will learn the _Ministry approved_ syllabus laid out in your textbooks. I believe you will find the lessons most satisfactory for your O.W.L. preparations."

Hermione's hand shot up next to him. Harry almost groaned, wanting to warn her off whatever attention she was about to bring to their table. It wasn't necessary. Umbridge ignored her.

The speech continued. Something about studying for studying's sake and learning what ought to be learned… maybe… er, something close at least. Harry tuned out about half-way through. Hermione's hand remained vigilant, reaching high without a sign of wavering.

"-please, take out your textbooks and begin reading the first chapter."

Harry blinked, his elbow sliding off the desk. He straightened flipping open the cover. Chapter 1: Household Dangers and Pest Extermination. He rose an eyebrow. Maybe the interesting chapters were later.

He read the first paragraph, then the second… then the third… then the third again. After another failing pass at the driest material he ever had the misfortune to be assigned, his eyes started to wander. He watched Seamus and Dean subtly doodle messages in the margins to each other. Neville sat staring blankly at Lavender and Pavarti while they giggled over a bit of torn parchment. Hermione's hand still stuck high in the air, her textbook lying unopened on her desk.

Harry did a double-take. Hermione ignored an assignment. She never ignored assignments. He found his eyes slipping back to her every few minutes, and after a while, he gave up pretenses and stared openly. Soon, the rest of the class noticed. Even the Slytherins started sneaking looks of disbelief.

Umbridge's stubby heels clicked against the stone a few stunted strides closer. Harry watched her scan the room. Her gaze landed on Neville.

"Mister Longbottom," she called. Neville's head snapped away from watching Hermione to the professor. "It is Longbottom isn't it?"

"Yes, professor."

"Yes, I thought so. I saw your grandmother in our last Wizengamot hearing." Her eyes cut to Harry, pausing a second too long. "Wonderful woman," she said turning back to Neville.

"Thank you, professor," he said caught off guard.

"You're very welcome, dear. Now, I wonder if you might tell me. Only, it seems you're slightly distracted from the lesson," she asked, all sugar and candy, like one of Bertie Bot's more creative beans dipped in frosting.

"Well, professor," he started, shooting an uncertain glance back at their table, "I think Hermione might have a question."

"Hermione?" She turned to look at them, "Ah, yes, I must have missed your hand. I'm sorry, dear, I didn't catch your full name." Hermione's hand lowered, her shoulder's tensing.

"Hermione Granger, professor," she answered.

"Hm, I don't believe I've heard that family name before," Umbridge said, a toothy grin pulling at her lips. Harry's hand clenched into a fist.

"No, I don't suppose you have, professor."

"Odd," she said, making a show of thinking, "I thought I knew all of the wizarding family names."

Harry saw Hermione's hands clench under the desk, her knuckles white with tension. "It seems you need to learn the new ones, professor." Something new glinted in her eye, a rebellious spark taunting her respect for all thing authoritative. Harry admired it, even as worry settled in his gut.

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "It was my understanding that I made the lesson plans, Miss… Granger." Her lips sneered around the name.

"It was mine, as well, which brings us to my original question. I've read our textbook, and it seems to be missing a practical application section. I wondered how you were planning to cover it. What with your assurances about our O.W.L.s at the beginning of class, I'm sure you've made allowances… professor."

"Practical application? My dear girl, why would you possibly need practical application in Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Umbridge let out a teetering laugh that put Harry's teeth on edge. She turned her attention to him. "Next you'll be saying a Dark Wizard's risen from his grave."

Harry's mouth opened, a protest on his tongue, but Hermione cut him off.

"Not at all." She forced a smile, "I simply wanted to know how we would prepare for that section of the exam. Surely, if the Ministry sees fit to test us on it, they've accounted for it in their approved syllabus."

"There will be no foolish wand waving in this class," Umbridge blustered taking a step toward Hermione. Harry saw the professor's hand twitch.

"Then how will we pass our O.W.L.s?" Harry asked trying to steer Umbridge away from her.

"Detention Potter!" Her expression deflated into a vicious smile. "Tonight."

"But Professor-,"

"A week then," she said not letting him finish the protest. He snapped his mouth shut. Angelina was going to kill him. Hermione glanced at him, an apology lighting her eyes as a few Slytherins let out giddy chuckles. He turned to glare at Malfoy on instinct, surprised when he found him sending a blank look down at his textbook.

His teeth clenched as he glared at Umbridge. Satisfied he wouldn't say anything else, she stalked back to the front of the room. Hermione cracked her textbook, and the class was quiet until dismissed.

**A/N: Hey All, I'm looking for some inspiration. If anyone has any favorite fifth year centered stories drop me a line, either a review or PM whichever is easiest. Thanks! Stay wonderful!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"I can't believe he got detention," Lee said as Hermione walked with him down the corridor. "Angie's going to kill him. I wonder if she'll get Fred and George to help. They have this new candy that-," he stopped himself at her glare, "Right, not important, just a sweet treat for anyone looking for the like, nothing untoward or… anythin'."

Hermione sighed. "Don't let them go too hard on Harry. She was completely unreasonable, and it was mostly my fault he got it anyway."

Lee raised an eyebrow. "You," he said, "Gryffindor's resident rule addict, you, who calls Snape, of all professors, by his title, you are the reason Harry Potter has detention. Color me skeptical."

"Well, it's true," she said, rolling her eyes. "There's something about that woman, professor, woman." She fought an internal battle. Nothing in her wanted to grant that… _toad_ a title, but the manners her parents drilled into her demanded it. She shook her head. "I don't know what came over me."

"I know you, Hermione. Hell, we all know you." He smirked when she sent him the obligatory "language" reprimand. "If she did enough to rile you, she deserved it. Whatever it was."

Hermione bit her lip, replaying the scene. Why did she push so hard? She should have stayed quiet. Talking earned Harry detention.

She thought of the alternative, a hand reaching unbidden to rub her forearm. Silence earned worse. Her father's screams echoed in her head, her arm burning with phantom pain.

"Hermione?" Lee stood in front of her studying her face. When did he move? His hands twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, unsure if he should. She felt something cold press into her shoulder, solid, stone, the wall. Right, she must have stumbled. Forcing an embarrassed laugh, she righted herself.

"Sorry." She shook her head. "Skipped dinner to make rounds." She suppressed a cringe as the excuse left her lips.

"Right," Lee said stuffing his hands in the pockets of his cloak, unconvinced. She watched as he tried to mask his concern. "Maybe a trip to the kitchens, then, after rounds?"

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. A familiar voice questioned whether it was against the rules before a new one announced it didn't care. "Kitchens?"

/-/-/

Hermione sat in the common room, an extra pumpkin pastie ready and waiting for Harry. She had to fend off the twins twice. They complained saying someone who missed practice shouldn't get a treat, especially when they set Angelina on the warpath. Eventually, Lee wandered over and dragged them off.

She mouthed a quick thank you. He smiled back.

Time ticked by. The common room emptied. Ron stayed up with her for a while before admitting defeat and slumping off to bed. He refused to tell her how tryouts went, saying he wanted to tell her and Harry at the same time. She wondered if that meant it was good news or bad.

Finally, the common room door slid open. Harry stumbled in. Hermione half-asleep jerked awake, a hand flying to her forearm. She forced herself to slow her breathing.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. He looked surprised to see her.

"Hello Harry," she said, watching him shove his hand in his pocket. "What time is it?"

He shrugged. "Are you alright?" he asked taking a few steps closer. "You look pale."

She shook her head. "Just a little dream. I'll be fine." She tilted her head toward the side table. "I saved you a pastie. Lee showed me how to get into the kitchens."

Harry collapsed on the couch next to her and grabbed the pastry. His hand refused to leave his pocket. She raised an eyebrow.

"Harry?" she asked. He hummed, taking a bite. He sighed in delight. "Can I see your hand?"

He froze. Dread gathered in Hermione's stomach. He chewed, then swallowed.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because you've been hiding it since you saw me," she said. He refused to look at her and took another bite. "Harry… what happened."

He swallowed. His jaw fluttered. "Nothing."

"Harry-,"

"Why couldn't you just stay quiet?" He cut her off. She flinched, leaning back from his outburst. The back of his wrist reached up to rub his scar.

"Stay quiet," she said. Anger replaced worry. Her voice cut through the room, calm, deadly. "Stay quiet? I stayed quiet, Harry." She glared as he finally met her eyes. "When they knocked my mom unconscious, when they sliced into my dad, when they…," she almost choked on the words, but forced her voice steady, "when they held a torch to my arm branding me with their mark. I didn't tell them where you were. I made them believe I didn't know. I stayed quiet." The heat left his face. He paled. "Now, show me your hand."

His gaze dropped to his lap. He lifted his hand out of his pocket and dangled it in front of her palm up. She let her anger melt and took it.

Hermione saw him flinch and lightened her touch. Carefully, she turned it over. Her heart sank. Rage surged under her skin. Words, so beautiful when sprawled on a page, stared at her etched in angry red cuts.

I must not tell lies.

"That..." she stumbled for a word. Nothing felt right. She couldn't bring herself to curse, even then. "Toad."

It surprised a laugh out of Harry.

"Harry, you need to tell someone."

His smile fell. "No, that's what she wants. I'll tell and no one will be able to do anything."

"We have to try," she said.

"No, your parents were right, Hermione. The ministry is at Hogwarts. They're making the rules, now." He sighed leaning back into the cushions. "I guess wizards aren't as different from muggles as they'd like to think."

She ground her teeth, knowing he was right. Helpless, a feeling she was too familiar with lately. The smell of burnt flesh sprang to mind. No, she wouldn't let the bitch win. She may not say the word, but she could think it.

"Harry," she said. He didn't look up. She lay a hand on his cheek. He let her guide his gaze to hers. "You can't keep things like this to yourself. It'll eat at you. Promise me you'll tell someone, if not a teacher, me, Sirius… or even Ron. He means well… usually, and he does care for you."

"I… Yeah, ok," he said. They stared at each other. Hermione felt something pull at her, a phantom pressure telling her to move closer. Her eyes flicked to his lips. She swallowed and let her hand fall. Ignoring it, she sat back.

"Now, where is the secret prank stash you and Ron think you're hiding from me." She enjoyed the look of surprise that crossed his face. "I have a plan."

**A/N: First, thank you, everyone, for posting your questions! Pawsrule I think you posted this question first, so sorry for the delay. To everyone who asked if this will be Harmony, the answer is an emphatic yes. :) It's my favorite pairing, so I couldn't resist for my first HP fanfic. To Guest-hearterC3, thanks for the suggestion! Also, yours and Tink's reviews make my day. I love that you all share stories, and the collection on Tink's profile is great! Thanks for pointing me to it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

A soft pop filled the cell.

"Bixy?" She asked lifting her head from her pillow.

"Bixy is being sorries, Miss," he said. Her brow furrowed.

"Wha-?" The bed popped away with a snap of Bixy's fingers. Her butt hit the ground, the stone, unyielding. "Bixy, what's going on?" A knot of dread curdled in her gut. Her nightstand popped away next, then her books, everything that made the cell bearable, gone.

The elf looked at her, water in his eyes.

"Bixy is being sorries, Miss. Mistress is calling Bixy." He popped away.

She froze. Her blood, her heart, her breath refused to start. Her back fell against the cold wall. It seeped through her shirt. She glanced at the shackles hanging from the wall, and her gaze stuck. They were back.

/-/-/

Monday morning Harry walked to breakfast with an extra spring in his step.

"What's got you so excited, then?" Ron asked, shooting him a smile.

Harry traded a look with Hermione. "Nothing, just feels like it's going to be a good day, that's all." Hermione tried to hide a laugh.

Ron looked between them and shrugged. After announcing he made Keeper for the quidditch team, his mood seemed to improve in strides. Harry hoped it would stick.

They entered the Great Hall, and Harry had to fight back a laugh. Umbridge sat at the head table, skin green, hair silver. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione slid onto the bench next to him.

"Green's a better complexion for toads, I think," she muttered. The laugh burst out. He couldn't stop it. Ron shot them a knowing glance.

Hermione suggested the Slytherin colors.

"Gryffindors are already a suspect. Why feed her the answer?" She had asked. "We'll do green and silver, and maybe she'll throw one of the snakes in detention by mistake."

Harry told her the twins would be proud. She promptly swore him to secrecy.

"What do you have there, Neville?" Hermione asked. The concern in her voice made Harry look up.

Neville sat staring at the Daily Prophet. His face was pale. His hands shook.

"Neville, mate, you alright?" Ron asked nudging him in the side.

Neville jumped. "What? Oh, yeah, er, yes, I um..." He started to stand collecting his things. "I have to go."

He left, his breakfast untouched, the paper turning soggy in his gravy. Hermione stood to read the headline.

"Mass Breakout from Azkaban, believed to be the work of known convict Sirius Black," she read out loud. A picture of someone named Bellatrix Lestrange glared from the page. Harry watched Luna leave the Ravenclaw table and follow Neville out.

"Why do you think it upset him so much?" Ron asked around a mouthful of food.

Harry shrugged. "No idea."

/-/-/

"Harry Potter!"

Harry cringed. He'd managed to avoid Angelina all weekend, with the help of Lee of all people. The twins flanked her as she stormed to his side.

"Laps Harry, so many laps," she said. He gulped. "Meet me on the pitch at five."

Fred, or maybe George, shot him a sympathetic glance. It was a nice change from the tongue tangling taffy they tried to sneak into his candy stash. Angelina turned and left, the twins following.

/-/-/

Harry's day flew past in a whirlwind of frustratingly confusing assignments and a homework load to match. The only person who seemed to even understand the transfiguration instructions was Hermione. He was happy she was his partner.

By the time he made it to Potions, he was ready to collapse in his fourposter bed, curtains shut.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape spat halfway through the period, "if possible your attempt today has surpassed even your deplorable potioneering skills." He vanished the cauldron's contents before it could bubble over the side. Neville didn't look up, the same blank look stuck on his face that he'd worn all day. "Another attempt isn't worth another vanishing spell. Detention with Professor Sprout tonight. Get out of my classroom. Go plant something."

The Slytherins laughed.

Harry glanced over at Hermione. Draco sat next to her grating a slug shell ignoring the byplay. At the beginning of class, Snape announced their partners for the day, a new edict handed down from the school's new ministry official. Harry wondered who chose the pairs, him or Umbridge.

Hermione stirred the potion, face pale, hands shaking as she tried to ignore Draco. They hadn't spoken since she sat at his table. Harry kept an eye on them as he worked with Daphne Greengrass. Ron sat in the back, trying to head off Seamus's attempts to blow up their potion, the room with it.

"Would you pay attention, Potter," Greengrass hissed.

Their potion smoked turning green. He spotted his mistake, a piece of shell bobbing in the mixture before dissolving. The recipe called for shell dust not chunks. Greengrass added more Billywig slime to counteract it.

"Sorry," he muttered glancing back at Hermione and Draco.

"He's not going to do anything," Greengrass said, flicking a piece of hair over her shoulder with a perfectly manicured hand.

"Mhm," Harry hummed not paying attention. Greengrass may have rolled her eyes. He didn't know or care.

Hermione tried to bottle their potion, but her hands shook splashing it onto the desk. Draco grabbed her wrist to keep it from splattering his robes. Hermione jerked away. Harry stood, hearing Ron do the same behind him.

The room froze, a few Slytherins snickering into the silence. Draco dropped her wrist cutting a glare at his housemates. He muttered something to her too quiet for anyone to hear, and turned to bottle the potion.

Greengrass grabbed Harry's sleeve trying to tug him back into his seat.

"Potter," she said finally getting his attention, "sit down." He did after Hermione caught his eye and shook her head.

Greengrass stared at him. He focused on their potion.

"He won't do anything," she repeated. "Draco's not the one you should worry about."

Harry met her eye, brow furrowed. She turned back to the assignment and ignored him for the rest of the period.

/-/-/

He loved quidditch, Harry reminded himself.

After the twentieth lap, he only liked it.

After the thirtieth, he wondered if he would ever want to look at the pitch again.

Angelina stood in the middle keeping his broom captive as he ran. Harry spent the rest of his punishment inventing plans to steal it back. It might be worth getting kicked off the team.

When he finished, he regretted the thought. Quidditch was one of the best things about Hogwarts.

Angelina handed him his broom as his teammates started to show up for practice. He was soaked with sweat, his legs wobbling beneath him, but a thrill shot through him when he took to the air with the others.

When they were done, Angelina pulled him aside.

"No more detention," she said. "I mean it Harry. Your name is in the pool for captain next year, but it'll only happen if you show up and keep your nose clean."

His heart soared. Captain.

"No more detention." He nodded.

"Good," she said. Her nose wrinkled. "Now, go shower."

/-/-/

Hermione was waiting for him when he left the locker room. He smiled.

"You missed dinner," she said. "I came to see if you wanted to visit the kitchens."

His stomach rumbled in answer. Hermione laughed. Harry followed her inside and through the corridors. Finally, they turned a corner and came to a portrait. Hermione reached out and tickled the pear. It swung open, and Harry was in heaven.

The smell of food hit him and he was in the room before he could tell himself to move. He was planning how he would stop by before summer vacation to stock up when they sent him back to the Dursley's when an elf popped in front of him.

"Dobby?" he asked, eyes widened.

"Mr. Harry Potter sir's come to visit Dobby!" The elf clapped and hugged Harry's leg. "Dobby is so very happy to see Mr. Harry Potter."

"Dobby," Hermione said, shooting the small elf a smile, "Harry just finished practice and hasn't had dinner yet. We were wondering-,"

Dobby popped away before she could finish. A table popped in front of them, food appearing at random. Harry shrugged, stepped forward, and started filling a plate. He looked back at Hermione.

"Did you already eat?" He asked.

"I grabbed something before going to the library," she said, eyes shifting to the side. Harry studied her.

"Dobby, can we get some shepherd's pie?" He asked into the busy kitchen. Harry wasn't sure where his friend went but hoped he could hear. The dish appeared. "Thank you!"

Hermione stepped forward to inspect it. "It looks like mom's."

"Probably tastes like it, too," he said. She looked at him. Tension melted from her shoulders. She sighed and grabbed a plate.

After they finished their first helping and Harry grabbed seconds, Harry asked, "What did Draco say to you?"

"What?"

"During potions, he said something to you."

"Oh," she said looking down at her plate, "nothing important."

"Hermione, it clearly upset you."

"I'm fine."

"You skipped dinner."

"I didn't-," his look stopped her. "Fine, I skipped dinner, but it wasn't anything I should get worked up about. It's dumb."

"I doubt it. Why don't you tell me and let me decide for myself."

He let the silence stretch hoping she would fill it. She flicked her eyes to his.

"He said to be careful during rounds, that the others were planning something, and he would try to warn me if learned anything."

Harry froze, a bit halfway to his mouth. He let it fall back to his plate. "Stick to Ron's side."

"I will."

"Seriously Hermione, no matter what, stay with Ron during rounds."

"Harry, I will."

"And don't trust anything the ferret tells you."

"Harry."

"No. When has he ever helped us? It could be a trap. It probably is a trap. Just, be careful, alright."

"I will."

**A/N: Thanks, everyone! Wiwerse, thanks for the constant support! As for your questions:**

**1) There could be a sequel. Right now, the plan is to finish the plot line, but more drama can always follow. The phoenix burns in this context refers to Hermione's story arc, beginning with her run-in with the Death Eaters.**

**2) Good! I wasn't trying for subtle. :)**

**I also wanted to shout out to Jessi Granger. Thanks for the motivation!**

**Thank you, everyone, for reading. Stay wonderful!**


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